


A Way With Words (or; That Time Crowley Wished Aziraphale Would Just Shut Up)

by Caedmon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crack, Euphemisms, Humor, Kinda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28564575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have just confessed their love after 6000 years and are doing what comes naturally - kissing and exploring. But Aziraphale’s choice of euphemisms leaves a bit to be desired.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 147
Kudos: 236





	A Way With Words (or; That Time Crowley Wished Aziraphale Would Just Shut Up)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation in the Fangirlia Facebook group. Yes, we’re _that_ type of group ~~and proud of it!~~
> 
> Unbeta’d, so all the mistakes are on me. 
> 
> Special thanks to Quefish for encouraging this nonsense. 
> 
> This is it, folks. My crowning achievement. The greatest thing I will ever write. I’ve peaked now, and it’s all downhill from here.

Crowley could hardly believe this was happening. In his wildest dreams, he never would have imagined this. 

He and Aziraphale had gone to dinner earlier this evening, like usual, then had gone for a stroll around St. James Park. Crowley had nearly fainted when Aziraphale had reached over and grabbed his hand, and had nearly _discorporated_ when Aziraphale had pulled him to a stop outside the shop and kissed him. After sixty centuries of dancing around each other, they had declared their love and were now in the back room of Aziraphale’s shop, on the couch, necking like teenagers. It was more than Crowley had ever dreamed of, any of the times he’d ever let himself dare dream of this, and he was nearly overwhelmed. 

“I love you, Aziraphale,” he breathed between fervent kisses to Aziraphale’s neck. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, my darling,” Aziraphale said, laying his head to the side so Crowley could kiss more. “Oh, my love, you’re everything to me.”

He almost discorporated again when he felt Aziraphale’s hand slide down into his lap and cover his hard cock, and he jumped.

“Oh, my darling. You have a kicky-wicky. I’ve often wondered what effort you made.”

There was the sound of a record scratching in Crowley’s brain and he straightened. “A kicky-wicky?”

“Oh, yes. And it’s so large, too. A true liver disturber.”

Crowley sat back from him a little. “A _liver disturber_?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, with a squeeze to his cock. “I’m referring to your dingle-doodle.”

“That’s not what it’s called,” Crowley said in a strangled voice, torn between the burning fire of love in his veins and the quite opposite feelings the angel’s words were inspiring.

“What is it called, then? Do you prefer dingwallace?”

“No.”

“Throat spackler?”

“No, angel.”

“Skin flute? Long plum? Kidney buster? Corned beef torpedo?”

“Jesus riverdancing Christ, angel, what the fuck? _No._ It’s a cock, call it a cock.”

“So I shouldn't say that I want to suck your patootie?”

“Satan, no. Not when you call it that.”

“Ride on your quimstick?”

“Please, I’m begging you, just call it a cock.”

“Oh, alright. If you insist. I’ll call it a cock. Now, where were we?”

“Right about here,” Crowley said, leaning back in for another kiss. It wasn’t long before they were wrapped up in each other again, hands roaming. Crowley was thrilled when Aziraphale started stroking him through his trousers, and sent his own hand down to seek out Aziraphale’s effort. He found that his angel seemed to be the owner of a large, proud cock. 

“Is that alright?” Aziraphale asked, breathless. 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s perfect.”

“Because I can trade it out for a bajingo if you’d like.”

“A _bajingo_?”

“Yes, if you’d prefer a weiner wallet.”

“Aziraphale...”

“Ham flaps?”

“No.”

“Cooter?”

“Fuck, no.”

“Penis fly trap?”

“Aziraphale!”

“What?”

“Please, I’m begging you. Literally begging. _Stop_.”

“I don’t understand your objection. Do you want me to call it something else, or are you happy with me having a one-eyed trouser snake?”

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. How the hell was he in love with a creature this ridiculous? 

“Let’s make a deal,” he said. “We’ll either call them by their proper names, or if we want to use slang, we’ll call them ‘cock’ or ‘cunt’. Okay? No quivering members or throbbing jazz cafes or any of that rot.”

“Ooh, throbbing jazz cafe. I like that one.”

“Aziraphale!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Can we agree?”

“Yes, I suppose so. Which effort do you prefer?”

“I don’t care, as long as you promise not to make it weird again.”

“I promise. I won’t make it weird again.”

“Thank someone.”

“Now if you wouldn’t mind, I’d very much like to get back to riding the balogna pony.”

Crowley sighed, defeated. “Goddammit, angel.”


End file.
